


Final Toll

by interstellartreasure



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, also [hands you hegemol n lurien] FAMBLY, anyway [hands you monomon n lurien] FRIENDS, but they r the main subject of some convos, i have many thoughts abt them :'], just a heads up that thk and quirrel don't appear much!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellartreasure/pseuds/interstellartreasure
Summary: At the end of it all, there were few who knew Lurien as he was, beneath all such spectacle. Only they held the opportunity to truly mourn as he was laid to rest.or: A glimpse into Lurien's last, most strenuous moments by those he truly loved and was loved by in turn.---CW: Referenced character death, dehumanization of THK, memory issues, mentions of panic attacks, very brief mentions of dissociation, self-harm, and ableism
Relationships: Lurien the Watcher & Hegemol (Hollow Knight), Lurien the Watcher & Lurien the Watcher's Butler (Hollow Knight), Lurien the Watcher & Monomon the Teacher (Hollow Knight), Lurien the Watcher & The Pale King (Hollow Knight), Monomon the Teacher & Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	Final Toll

The watcher’s city was crumbling around him.

Only the rain pouring from the cavern above promised to remain itself. It beat steadily against the spire, providing a vague sense of solace even as the pit in Lurien’s stomach grew. He stared at the cold plinth before him.

Though he knew intimately the disdain with which this exchange was regarded among the richer of the capital, the myriad of silent claims to his cowardice in leaving them behind with no more than the echoed words of the king in his end, his true shame took an unanticipated form. How recreant must he be, to find himself frightened of the very act itself—to sleep eternal. Broken as it now felt, the mere idea of leaving his city behind, tending to and fending for itself in his forever absence, gripped him with a terror he could not shake. He had restored the Overseers, left what instruction he could for whoever would heed him, trusted Hegemol to resume his prior role, yet never could he soothe himself.

Such personal hindrances did not matter. This was his higher duty, one beyond this city, for Hallownest itself, for the very king who crafted his life into something tangible.

It was the Wyrm’s right to revoke what life he graciously gave; Lurien knew he must inevitably repay him for this gift and long since accepted it, but a genuine swear from long ago did not easily numb the sickening dread which swiftly returned as he stood before his deathbed.

His sole, selfish relief at this seemingly sudden reality was that his existence was given for a noble purpose. In exchange for his life, his king promised the same kingdom which gave him _everything_ would be preserved and live on. Not only this, but it was meant to save those he cared for—although he privately admitted most who bothered to be friendly with him in return for his affection only ever respected a lie.

What a ridiculous facade he imposed upon himself. Needless, especially in its beginnings.

He would keep himself hidden in death, of course, for their sake as much as his—he would not be revealed and rile further uncertainty. Enough doubt wrought his city as it was. Banishment to oblivion was infinitely more acceptable than witnessing his final impact as no more than a catalyst to reinforce such distrust.

However, whether he acknowledged it or not, his untold truth dwelled on: this was his city which he swore to serve, but he was not theirs. Hallownest was not his home, despite every desperate wish and attempt to make it so.

Lurien never meant any disrespect toward the Pale King. In honesty, he rather admired him and was honored beyond words to have ever known him. He remained forever thankful. Yet he could not entirely refute the fact, deep within, he never genuinely felt fulfilled with what roles he was assigned. It was always stifling. If Lurien were not regarded as an outcast—the foreign child from beyond the ashy wastes—he was generally praised as the embodiment of all the good of this city—the revered King’s Watcher, the Keeper of Hallownest’s Heart who served with his all until his end.

Hardly any alive found the connection between the two.

All the same.

At the end of it all, there were few who knew Lurien as he was, beneath all such spectacle. Only they held the opportunity to truly mourn as he was laid to rest.

———

In the presence of the Pale King of Hallownest, Lurien was stripped of everything he shrouded himself in.

Anything he could possibly say was already known and every action he took long predicted. Initially, this realization frightened him. He soon learned to find it comforting; there was no need to lie here, no pretense he was meant to live up to else be torn down and revealed as a deceitful wretch. In the eyes of His Majesty, he was merely another being—flaws and all. This was an interim he desperately needed, even as his fear of not being who he was perceived to be slipped to one of not being enough.

“Tell me, how fare the crossroads?”

Lurien snapped to attention, but responded mildly. “I would not know, sire. Not only have refined items entirely halted transport, leaving us solely with raw materials from the town above, but the current Overseer has not kept contact.”

“No?”

“Afraid not. I have attempted to call for her several times over, all for naught. My message has never even _entered_ the crossroads.” Lurien paused, then, carefully: “I _do_ know my servants whose familial homes reside there have since officially settled in the spire. However, they will not speak much of its state unless I press them. I would rather not do so.”

The king did not respond to this latter note. He moved forward with seemingly no direction—though, admittedly, it was always difficult to begin to guess where another’s destination was with how extensively the palace spread. Lurien obediently trailed behind him, ignoring the ache in his sides, waiting ever-patiently for his reply.

“They have truly taken initiative to isolate, then.” A quiet beat. “Very well. I shall ensure the areas around are aware if it soothes them so. I trust you to give official word to the capital.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Silence once again crept between them. There was much more Lurien wished to say, what with the eerily familiar stories of those who openly answered his request. They told him the process in which these treacherous events unfolded and, though unsettled, offered direct quotes of which mad utterings provoked their leave. These were always the words, the commands, of the false light.

However, he knew well not to speak on any of this without prompting. It made it easier on the two of them to allow the king to guide their conversations.

“You have a question,” He stated plainly. This acknowledgement alone was permission enough.

“Has it begun?”

The king paused. Lurien’s steps fell in place alongside his. A chill shook him as the elder turned, contemplating him with no more than a slight tilt of the head. “Yes, dear Watcher.”

Dread twisted in his gut. A bitter sting touched his tongue. He gave a curt bow, yet could hardly manage the thankful reply paired with it: "Sire.”

As Lurien rose again, the Pale King remained entirely unreadable.

How ludicrous a thought to believe he caught the other hesitate prior to returning to his path. He disregarded it immediately and resigned himself to becoming no more than a shadow as the king continued forth in purposeful strides through his palace. Kingsmoulds which kept the hall’s end allowed passage to the private rooms as the Pale Light made himself known and promptly shut the doors behind once the two passed through.

Unexpectedly, he took a turn rather than joining the main roms ahead, moving toward what merely appeared as no more than a white wall engraved with his sigil. To Lurien’s quiet surprise, it simply fell as the two approached.

The Pale King stepped aside, nodding for him to first enter the unfamiliar area.

It felt strange to have his king stand behind him, if even for a few moments. When he joined the watcher again, he was at his side.

Alone with his king in an area purposefully hidden away—Lurien just barely suppressed a shiver. A question of intent lingered even as he attempted to shift focus toward this unfamiliar room. He took a careful breath, hoping to ease his pounding heart.

As every other touch of this palace, it was beautiful. Such stunning allure, only ever accentuated by the natural additions to it—no doubt by the queen’s hand prior to her leave. It carried few objects of significance beyond her incorporation:

A circular table adorned with purposeful, steady etchings was its centerpiece, featuring both a small chest and, recently set beside it, a nail clearly well-kempt of impressive size. The table itself was meant to harbor three, though it was apparent none of the chairs had been used in some time. Lumaflies floated aimlessly in delicate spheres placed at the corners of the room, casting a welcoming gentle glow. Against the wall furthest from the door, a desk stood, carrying two separate stacks of notes. The king’s insignia decorated its top and, just beneath, rest a mantra written in an old script Lurien could only scarcely recall in his better moments.

His Majesty beckoned him toward the balcony beyond. It overlooked a small garden of sorts far below; wonderfully vibrant in comparison to the considerate engravings of the palace itself. It contrasted perfectly for the area it resided in.

The lovely sight would have easily captured Lurien had he not noticed the tall figure stood beside him.

Although his king slipped between the two, quietly offering himself as a barrier to any apprehension, Lurien could not silence the storm of thoughts building within upon seeing this one again.

This, then, was what his king truly wished to ask him about. He hoped to never visit it again, in honesty. The vessel—easily confused as another bug in its void’s outline—now towered over the two of them, carrying itself with certainty and a natural grace not so unlike its creator. Even against the bright detailed walls of the palace, Lurien could not deny the light which now lingered around it in this full form, a trait far too similar to His Majesty.

The watcher eased himself away from the absurd thought which followed.

Upon further inspection, it appeared that even in this complete state, its gentle shine was incapable of rivaling that magnificent gleam the Pale King was capable of projecting—perhaps this supposed light was no more than a reflection? Must be.

Its expression within was emptier than most masked beings, yet there was a vague familiarity in the curves of its mask’s eyes as it stared out onto the garden. Lurien very much doubted it took in the view for mere aesthetic value. He peered closer to test this, but soon tore his gaze away. Despite the vessel’s glimmering outer shell, there was not a glint in that piercing darkness.

Lurien suddenly found himself enamored with the designs of the railing beneath his primary set of hands. This abrupt attentiveness certainly held no correlation to the pale one’s now-armored, imposing form nor its barren gaze.

“You recall the vessel.”

The watcher quickly regained himself and focused on his king. “Yes, sire. It is perfect.”

It did not move even as its creator turned to it. There was no bow, no nod, no acknowledgement; only a fixed, stoic pose passively staring ahead. The king examined it closely. It bore no signs of recognition.

Moving closer, the king set a more scrutinizing gaze upon the vessel. Lurien knew not how it refused to so much as _flinch_ under such intensity.

“It is our salvation. Know well its true purpose and inevitable fate.”

Lurien ignored what weariness in his king’s voice he irrationally clung to. How blatantly disrespectful to continue assuming the Wyrm’s state; if there was information he should gather, he would be told outright.

Despite himself, Lurien’s heart jumped at the unusual whisper: “Will you truly protect it, after the Old Light’s warped touch?”

“Yes,” The watcher answered immediately, as if the question given was hardly one at all.

The Pale King looked upon him with doubt, the mere gaze driving a blade through Lurien’s chest. Only slight consolation followed as the king returned to his typical quiet, steady demeanor. “Watcher.”

“I would do anything for you. This has rung true in my every moment spent in Hallownest’s embrace. Even if this were not my duty, I would gladly follow through with what you request of me to the best of my ability.”

“Lurien,” Now came a careful touch entirely uncharacteristic of the austere Pale King.

His breath hitched at the call alone; the shock kept him frozen. The tone of his name was nearly chiding, if not for the hint of _sorrow_ such disappointment fell from him with—discard that, remove such thoughts, recover from this foolish heart’s panicked beating. The king spoke naught but a _name_.

His Majesty returned from the vessel to meet Lurien entirely. Lurien could not begin to match his gaze.

“...Sire.”

“The affliction’s resurrection is not purely pertained to I.”

“No, sire.”

“Answer as yourself.” It was a simple command, but not one Lurien found so easy to comply with.

The Wyrm understood his beginnings better than _he_ did—or ever would, he imagined. His only true recollection of his early moments were obscured by what could only be summarized as violent despair.

Each arduous moment he spent lingering on memories of then was another spent falling deeper into an endless sea of panic, willingly allowing anxiety to gnaw at him as he searched until he could bear no more, _broke,_ and was left frantically trying to regain control of himself—to catch his breath and halt those shameful tears before another witnessed him, the King’s Watcher, in such a _disgraceful_ state.

Admittedly, this never entirely stopped him from lurking on the edges of such bitter barriers his own mind placed, especially in the solemn, quiet evenings spent wasting away in the city he once rejected.

(Now his cherished Heart; now his destined grave.)

Despite the pain which cut into him, threatening to shatter his very being if he ever ventured further, he desperately tried time and time again to recall any of his own kin. Childish a hope it was, he _knew_ there must be at least a singular, salvageable moment buried somewhere from that stage of his life before Hallownest, a momentary happiness which would grant the corrosive guilt worth what it had taken. Perhaps a piece of solace which would relieve him of the empty haziness he felt whenever he tried (and failed) to at least recall _his family’s name_.

However, truly all such digging accomplished was a growing ache in his chest. On especially awful nights, this left him trembling feverishly for hours until the lumaflies calmly roused from sleep, aimlessly fluttering about upon waking—a taunt, it seemed, to behold a creature with his same lack of direction yet somehow blissfully free of any need eating away at their very being, any selfish longing for _more_ beyond what they were given.

On those nights, with that endless scream in his chest, he was drenched in acidic dread. It was a suffocating fault not even the pure lake above could come close to cleansing him of. He was far too familiar with the terror that kept him from commanding his own body, even as he distantly knew the call for him beyond his door, his servants' worries. Only that haunting orange, clear as daylight in his father’s eye, remained the sole, certain reminder of what his childhood was: a dangerous period he ought not return to nor yearn for, especially considering what the king had gifted him since—a second chance at a life his family was too far gone to contemplate, now lined with luxury forever undeserved.

Slowly, Lurien gathered himself and finally crafted his answer. “You saved and graced me with what I seldom merited, especially then. I will not see your kingdom ruined as my kin were from that false light, even as I become keenly aware of her return and the corruption she attempts in this one. My promise endures: I shall willingly do my part as Dreamer upon your word.”

A silent breath. “Thank you, beloved Watcher.”

A slight bow. “My king.”

—

Should the beloved Madam of the Archives ever claim an exacerbated account of these moments, let it be known as certain truth the watcher did _not_ recoil at the little pale beast’s attack cry. He did _not_ crumple to the floor when it raged on with a toy needle until Monomon herself whisked the weapon away and reminded the tiny thing to warn others (or, at least Lurien) before play-fighting. However, the other two _did_ engage in a battle of their own and the dearest Teacher was utterly and completely destroyed by a child. A tragedy, to be sure.

“Of course,” Monomon snorted, “That is precisely what happened.”

Lurien brushed himself off, warily glancing about to ensure the miniature embodiment of chaos truly had left with Deepnest’s Queen. He then folded his hands together and met Monomon’s gaze with a suppressed smile. “Of course.”

“You are ridiculous,” She shook her head with a gentle laugh.

He paused. “And the child was not?”

“The child was a _child_ , Lurien,” She remarked, emphasized with a flick upon his forehead.

“Ah. Rude,” He muttered, instinctively checking for any remaining mark on his mask. “A fair point, however.”

It never took long for Monomon to recover and redirect herself. Lurien could practically see her skimming through to recall what they were speaking of prior to the child’s intrusion. “Quirrel ought to return soon.”

Lurien’s heart dropped at the very reminder of why he was here: to finalize his will. A steady sense of unease built in his chest in its absence, especially caught on the mention of her assistant. Although he felt the tug of an indgulent question, it would be nothing short of intrusive to request her guidance _now_. He instead nodded silently as acknowledgement. Monomon gently nudged his shoulder.

He swiftly changed his foolish thought to another. “How is he?”

Despite her momentary surprise, Monomon continued smoothly. “Quirrel’s had better moments. You know how chronic pain is, especially in our colder seasons.”

“All too well,” Lurien sighed regrettably, easing himself back into their conversation. Thankfully, she mused on.

“Aching upon request to join me. Restless when I ask him to take breaks. Mind, he never speaks to either. Countless cycles together, yet I remain helpless as to how I am meant to help him cope beyond simple mercies anyone would know,” Monomon slowly trailed off. Lurien tentatively reached for one of her closer tendrils; she wrapped it around his claw and gave a light squeeze. When she spoke again, it was more teasing than anything. “Perhaps to keep him engaged, but in place, I shall subject him to paperwork as you have with your own assistant.”

Lurien folded his lower arms and scoffed, “I do not _‘subject’_ Aster to it. After it is sorted, they _steal_ my less significant mail.”

“Oh?”

“They will either take it to Dirtmouth in the evenings, or—well, as you know—they are not above locking me out of _my own spire_ and, ahem, strongly _suggesting_ I relax for the day.”

“They are right, you know. You must learn to care for yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Lurien shook from her grasp and fixed his posture, looking over her skeptically. “Am I hearing this correctly? Mx ‘let us coincide only after I complete my single rest of this season’ Teacher of the Archives? Madam ‘I cannot sleep until I discover a tangible way to create eighty-odd miracles’ Monomon? _You_ are reminding _me_ of the importance of self-care?”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” She shrugged playfully. A smile slipped onto Lurien’s face despite himself.

He pressed a claw to his forehead and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Dear Wyrm, we are a mess.”

“The Wyrm is a mess, himself.”

“Yet stands perfection in our comparison.”

“With all respect,” A new voice chimed in, “that is not so high a bar if you are anything like the madam.”

Lurien glanced over to the entrance. A young bug had gently opened the door and now held up a free claw to greet the two. Although the watcher was vaguely aware of this one’s past, it was surprising all the same to see him hold himself with the same composure of a practiced warrior as he briskly walked toward Monomon. He gave her the blank papers, as requested, beaming up at her. His assured demeanor rivaled that of the city’s guards, though Lurien personally much preferred the touch of equanimity this one held alongside such clear resolve—it was far more welcoming. It almost reminded him of Hegemol.

“Quirrel,” Monomon’s smile was immediately evident despite the other’s initial teasing. Fondness always slipped into her tone when she spoke of him. Every story she indulged Lurien of their interactions were quite clearly ones she treasured. He must admit, he began to share her care for this one, albeit an obviously more distant attachment.

“Madam,” Quirrel acknowledged warmly. His kind gaze lingered on her a few moments longer before he moved to welcome Lurien. “Watcher! A pleasure.”

“Similarly so.” Lurien nodded. “Thank you dearly for helping us.”

“Certainly,” He replied brightly. Lurien wondered how much Quirrel knew of what the Dreamers came here to do—what pieces of this cordiality would remain then? He looked on silently as the other turned to speak generally. “I caught Deepnest’s Queen on my way back. We spoke briefly. Have you heard her child’s already chosen a name?”

“Has it?” Lurien was unable to hide his surprise; it was quite unexpected for a child so young to choose a name of its own. Monomon squeezed his shoulder.

“Queen Herrah kindly disclosed its name to me. However, I hold little doubt you two will be privy to it soon enough. We wait only for her child’s ceremony to pass.”

“Send my best regards along, will you?” Lurien asked Monomon. She nodded easily, but Quirrel cast a curious glance.

It took mere moments for his thoughts to form a question. “Watcher, forgive me as I’d never intend to pry, but are you not acquainted with the two?”

“Oh, it is no trouble,” He assured him. Then, “To your question: somewhat. Although I am occasionally tasked alongside Ogrim with monitoring the child’s training with the vessel, there is no true connection formed between it and I. As for the queen, although we harbor no ill will toward one another, I keep my distance as to not impose myself upon her.”

Contrary to what others believed, it was, in fact, _not_ her initial call of serving his insides on his own broken mask to his king which kept him from attempting to familiarize himself with her. Genuinely, he never minded it—it was almost a relief to receive such a unique and clear threat after the nobles' elusive insults—and this was decades ago, when the threat of open war genuinely persisted. Rather, his distance was born of a more rational deduction that she was far more content in the absence of such obvious reminders of the Pale King. As it was, she was alive and free from his reign and expected it to be so until her end proved completely inevitable; he would not deny her wishes.

They were only loosely tied together and that was all they must remain for the king’s plan.

Quirrel studied him moments more before accepting the answer as satisfactory. He shifted focus to Monomon. “The queen also wished for me to reinforce her offer, Madam.”

“Thank you Quirrel, I shall keep it in mind.”

“May I ask what said ‘offer’ entails?”

“Perhaps once it passes.”

Quirrel nodded, then looked between the two and clasped his claws together. “Well, anyhow, I’ll leave you two to it.”

Monomon kindly wrapped a tendril around his arm. He beamed at her, “Call me once you’ve finished, won’t you?”

“I will,” Monomon promised easily. Quirrel tentatively moved from her to look to Lurien.

“It was a pleasure to see you again Watcher. Take care.”

“Do fare well, Quirrel.”

With that, and a small last squeeze from Monomon, he took his leave with the doors shut behind him. Lurien stared at where he left, attempting to collect himself enough to move on and complete what he initially joined Monomon to do.

And yet, it was she who tried again. “Is there something more you wish to say?”

“No,” He replied—too clipped, too sudden. If she held no suspicions prior, she certainly would now.

“Lurien.”

“No, Madam. Let us proceed.”

“Spare me this.”

Gods below, it was hopeless to try discarding his mistake. The words slipped from his mouth, immediately falling to guilty stabs in his chest. “How shall you tell him?”

Monomon paused. “Of my being a Dreamer?”

“Yes.”

“Quirrel _has_ known. In fact, he has been of great help in crafting another layer to the king’s plan.” Monomon’s words, gentle as ever, were no longer of any comfort. She drifted closer with quiet concern. “Have you not..?”

Lurien sent a prayer to no one. Knowing Monomon, such a scheme to enhance the Wyrm’s own would be treated with great diligence. She would set aside what time she had remaining to researching what she must. A chill crept through him at the realization—perhaps Quirrel had known since the very beginning and since found peace with her fate.

If he had confessed, would Aster eventually come to that same conclusion? Or was Lurien right in that they would have resigned themself to believing they served nothing more than a husk?

(As he to his father; their last cycle together remorseful, bitter… angry.)

Monomon carefully set the materials Quirrel retrieved on the ground beside them, moving even closer to him with her tendrils outstretched. “Lurien?”

“How can I?” He asked weakly, guilt tugging him from her embrace, “Especially so near to _his_ final call.”

Should he have admitted what he swore to regardless?

“Is it rejection you fear?”

“Yes.” He breathed. “No.” The question rang in his head. Why should the King’s Watcher care? He could not change his debt nor revoke his oath. One bug’s feelings toward the Dreamers mattered not in the grand result: the preservation of Hallownest. “Aster is _sensible_ , they would understand.”

“But there is no guarantee they will accept it _wholly_ , is there? Is this what keeps you?”

“I know not.” Lurien idly scratched at the backs of his claws, carving vicious marks into them. “Please, Madam, drop this.”

“You must tell them eventually. Be it today or when you deem it time to call the capital’s attention, they _will_ know.”

He had nothing to say to that.

“But you do not want change.”

He could not dispute this. It was true, and she knew it. Of course _she_ knew.

Just as he felt blood rise, Monomon grasped his wrists and pulled them away from each other. A sting touched his eyes, threatening to beckon tears—pathetic as it was. Lurien could not speak, the coward.

“You must stop that.”

Habit. A horrible habit. He nodded. Although so near, her very being began to blur. He blinked. A tear touched the inside of his true mask. Another. He closed his eyes.

Monomon drifted downward, gently letting his arms fall so she could wrap him up in her own. She brought him closer to herself, careful for any signs of resistance. Were he anyone worth respecting, he would immediately move away and beg his dearest friend’s forgiveness. Rather, he only fell forward against her, silently returning the embrace. She was far more gentle than he deserved. Despite the cool air of the Archive and her comforting, cold touch, his face grew hot with shame. As much as they loved each other, she should not feel the need to do _this_ for him—he should have dealt with it in silence, for her sake.

“Lurien, I have felt as you do now. As you undoubtedly have since its beginning.”

Monomon hesitantly went on, voice soft, yet spoken with the confidence of one who had concluded these words long ago:

“It is not selfish to wish you were given more time in a moment, a place, or by a person that has since proven its solace. This intrinsic desire for warmth, for stability, I understand. I only plead _you_ understand it is impossible to halt change. Attempts to remain stagnant only ever serve to break us further.”

Bitterness touched his tongue. He would not dare speak the threads his mind followed.

“It is late, yes, but we are not yet gone; you have a chance to recover yourself yet. Lead them to comfort, treasure these moments left—simply refuse to continue this act it will always be so. Do not deceive them with the false assumption so many of us tend to take to heart: the promise of tomorrow.”

A familiar weight tugged at Lurien’s chest. He urged himself to speak, as quiet as it was. “I shall try.”

“That is a beginning.”

“A supposed beginning set so selfishly near a definite end. Pray tell, dear Monomon, what true comfort is to be found in that?” Although he was still shaking, he finally pulled away from her, leaving but one hand in her grasp. He dared not look up.

“Very little, I admit, but is such not what life is meant to be? Why allow a certain date to dictate sorrow, when we are now confirmed this meanwhile to _live_?”

“And upon our life’s end?”

“These memories you had taken were unhindered with a desire to become everlasting, now found with all the more value for the sincerity of a moment.” Monomon gently squeezed him again. “Regardless of most breaks in our path, we have these comforts, untarnished, to rely on."

“‘Most’.”

“You of _all_ are aware of the fragility of memories, however treasured they once were. The mind, our very consciousness, is a gift, yes, but it has its delicate intricacies. However, I hold certain _you_ retain this opportunity to carry such valuable memories onward.”

Lurien pulled closer to her once more, lifting his eyes enough to carefully watch her. Despite his time beside her, it remained difficult to properly read what physical cues she had, but he knew well her words. “An opportunity you do not share?”

“No longer.” Her head tilted downward. Lurien instinctively reached to hold her. “For my seal, we intend to invoke-”

“Your mask,” He realized, a spike of anxiety cut through his chest. How self-absorbed had he been to not connect it all sooner?

The pause in her movements, changed to comfort him, was answer enough. He tugged away from her, a flood of dread returning where exhaustion had once been. His voice raised despite himself. “ _If_ Quirrel _truly_ knew what this entailed, he would never agree.”

“Lurien, please. Listen.”

“You are well aware I have dedicated my very being to _him_ —” Lurien dared to remove his mask. It was ridiculous, to think it more than a _symbol_ of the king’s presence, but if he was to say what he meant, he would rather not feel that eye on him. He firmly gazed at her through his natural mask, all five eyes fixated on her form. “However, I am not so lost as to deny he has _stolen_ my past. Regardless of whether or not it held anything of note which would help me forward into Hallownest, it was _mine_ to forget. I am his; my devotion, my _love_ lasts, but he has irreparably harmed me through doing so without allowing me so much as a _choice_.”

“I am _not_ as cold as the king in my methods. I have warned Quirrel, I have given him choice where there typically is none.”

“Is it one he could deny?” Lurien snapped, harsher than intended. His head hurt.

“Yes,” Yet she hesitated.

He shook. “You cannot _fully_ believe that. You are elevated to a status worthy of respect, he must feel _indebted_ to you. From the very moment you presented him with this faux-decision rather than laying out your plan and allowing him to _offer_ his involvement of his own volition, you placed pressure on him to accept.”

“You assume much, Lurien.” Her voice steeled. “Although I admit with shame Quirrel was the sole candidate I wished for this, being one I trusted, who already held knowledge of what was meant to be done, I emphasized what he would lose because I did not _want_ him to accept. It pains me to know what he has given up in this attempt to secure Hallownest.”

“Why do you simply not trust our king’s design? Why add more to it _using_ him?”

“I _know_ the vessel will inevitably fail.”

“ _Liar_.”

“Despite our hopes, its very concept was faulty. How can one learn to adapt, if it holds no mind? What purpose does surviving serve, if it truly has no conscious? Answer that, Lurien. Our king could not in good conscience.”

“I ask _you_ why you have arrived to such conclusions despite our king’s clear reasoning.”

“He has attached himself to this last hope, regardless of its true plausibility! I would stand it—for I understand quite well we have little other option—if not for how _easily_ he disregarded my criticism. There is countless evidence toward the vessel’s discrepancy which our king blatantly _ignores._ He is driven by need, by want, by emotion, _regardless_ of what he projects, and it has impaired him _here_.”

“ _He_ -”

“Fine, then. What logic was there in taking _you,_ Lurien, with no genuine purpose? His kingdom was steadily recovering from that battle, already working to become stronger than before. Where is his _reason_ in risking _her_ presence in his prospering kingdom?” Sickening orange—he could hardly breathe. His head _hurt._ “Did he only wish to see his ‘blessing’ once more succeed over her rule? How would he react, then, knowing his same claim now formed affection toward him _regardless_ of his atrocities? Perhaps pride, at how he _broke_ one who was meant to be _her_ servant?”

Lurien’s blood ran cold. He did not speak. Could not.

“Forgive me,” Her voice suddenly grew softer and she dared to pull near him even as he recoiled, “but you _are_ biased despite what you have come to realize of his actions and influence on you. I truly am sorry, Lurien. Please _trust me_ in that I will not force Quirrel to endure the same.”

He hated her.

“I would not do it if I had no reason to, but I speak truth in that the vessel’s apparent failure has resulted in a more dire situation, one beyond Hallownest if Deepnest’s state is any signifier."

Silence.

“More strain shall be placed on us Dreamers, then, to keep the seal standing. It is my hope to complicate the Old Light’s escape by sending Quirrel away, with this.”

He returned the king’s mask. “Nothing perpetuates outside Hallownest but death.”

“Even if I were to dispute you, I already know this to not be your stance. Your own family-”

“-is dead. I do not remember them.”

Monomon began to speak on, but faltered.

“Would you force Quirrel to face the same, if our king’s plan is as faulty as you claim? If your only hope is to complicate a supposedly ‘inevitable’ escape for this immortal being? I am not so oblivious to your phrasing of such.”

Lurien looked her over in this sudden silence, ignoring the pain thrashing about in his chest. He did not _care_. From his confession, of finally feeling he found a confidant, she… _used_ what he had admitted for her own purposes. She _studied_ him in these moments of vulnerability and now decided this same pain he allowed was ultimately worth inflicting upon another. No matter her justifications for how important it was, _nothing_ could possibly excuse banishing someone to such disconnect. If she cared at all, she would understand this.

At least the vessel was but a construct. It held itself, unburdened by the attachments being such as themselves formed, by emotions which lasted _beyond_ memory.

Lurien lifted the silk-woven paper from the ground, carrying it with ease. Although he would find it especially difficult to ground himself on his own, he simply could not stand to be with her any longer—he had more of a chance of losing himself here now _knowing_ what she saw him as. “I shall send the copy of my will from the spire. Goodbye, Monomon.”

—

The cup fell to the floor with a sharp crack. Its shattered remains covered the floor beneath the two. Lurien’s butler stood from the shared seat, not looking to the broken mess below, but staring at Lurien himself. He could not read the expression on their face—whether it be remorse or anger or something else entirely meant nothing in the face of reality, yet it still stung to know he hurt them so with this final reveal.

“You cannot be serious,” Aster whispered.

“Have you known me to be anything but?” Lurien asked lightly. A mistake—from the way their shoulders tensed, the moment they could gather themself and the words, he was sure they would snap at him. He carefully filled the silence instead. “I have already vaguely informed the knights of their duty, should this go awry for whatever reason.”

“This shouldn’t be _done_ in the first place,” They spoke bitterly. It did not take one too attentive to notice their trembling.

“With my contribution, Hallownest will be safe.”

“Master.”

“ _You_ will be safe.”

“Lurien!” They cut in and his voice failed him. His heart dropped as they went on, voice breaking. “You cannot do this. Please, sir, you _can’t_.”

“For our king and this kingdom, I must.”

At the sight of tears, he faltered. All he knew was to offer his embrace, as they always had to him. Though they were reluctant, they grasped his primary claws, now clearly shaking against him.

A pained, pleading gaze fell upon him. “How long have your meetings with the king been about _this_?” They choked, yet were unable to refrain from continuing on, disregarding how their voice wavered. “We’ve had such little time. How long have you kept me unaware of his true intentions with you? _Why_?”

Lurien had no proper answer. He only brought them closer, and all their resentment seemed to crumble at this. They desperately clung to him, unable to keep their breaths as collected as before. They took in pained, shallow breaths through sudden sobs, burying their head into his chest, mumbling near-inaudibly. “I should’ve done more. I would’ve been able to prepare a proper goodbye. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

They went on like that even as he tried to comfort them. With each word, Lurien felt another ache. Guilt was a friend by now, but there was very little before wherein he was left feeling such a vile person.

Even as he ran his hands along their shell in an attempt to reassure and calm them, another part of him twisted at the act, insisting he was not allowed to even _touch_ them in this state after what he had done. He forced them to remain oblivious to the truth for so long. It was by his own faults they were given warning only a week prior to the rest of the city—not nearly enough time. They squeezed him, falling even closer into his grasp. Though they would occasionally be able to catch their breaths, it took mere moments for another sob to break what composure they gathered.

He took a careful, deep breath, and forced himself to interrupt. “Do not apologize. Please. The blame falls upon none but myself.”

They mumbled something more, but he went on steadily. “Aster, you have done no wrong. It was by idiocy _I_ made the selfish choice to conceal this from you for so long. You are considerate enough as you are, I did not wish to see you pushing yourself further. I feared you would only grow more upset, counting the days we had remaining, and it was _I_ who could not bear that change.”

Lurien held them tightly. “Do not forgive me. I have wronged you terribly.”

“You _have,_ ” Came the sharp, choked reply. His heart skipped a beat, fearful though he knew he had no right but to expect such a reaction. He had not given them _time_ to deny him. Shame covered him as they grasped him ever tighter; he was sure they would prefer to tear away, if they had not now known how soon he was to depart. “You can’t… conceal things such as this. _Especially_ if it will affect those who care for you.”

“I know. I truly am sorry, old friend.”

After a few moments, they slowly pulled from him, still unable to let go of his hands. They held an unusually-weary gaze. “It _hurts,_ ” Their voice broke, twisting another blade into his heart. “I know, I _know_ it isn’t ever my place to pry, but what with you claiming my importance to you, one would think you’d allow me to know what is happening, to know _you_.”

Lurien had nothing to say to that. Aster stared at him moments more before sighing. They glanced aside, grasp weakening in his own.

“It took a full _five_ cycles, at least, to witness your true mask—not that one of the king.”

Lurien idly pressed the edges of his second mask with a free hand. They went on, not bothering to hide their exhaustion.

“I understand well I am not privy to your past, but to only learn of your parentage, of _all_ things, through coincidence—I had stumbled upon you in the midst of a _panic attack_ —does not set the best precedent. How much longer had you planned to keep me unaware of the fact the city’s guardian, of the five knights, _Hegemol,_ practically adopted you? I would _never_ have pressed you of the… disaster which prompted him to take you on, but why was this something you refused to use to move our conversations forward, to properly _connect_ with me, the moments I spoke of my own parents?”

Aster weakly squeezed his hands, gaze falling further downward. They attempted a steady breath. “Whether intentional or not, you’ve always concealed so _much_.”

Although their criticisms were true and certainly not the most scathing he had ever received, Lurien felt a cry threaten to break his quiet demeanor because they _had_ cut to the heart of it. He was a fool to hide himself away, especially from the few who _could_ accept him, perhaps love _him_ —but it was far too late to change _that_. Even if his time were not limited, he already knew the others of the city would sooner insist the results of his paranoia was instead malicious intent. He now knew his initial reasoning to be nothing more than irrational, but it was not as if he could explain his actions away with that alone. They would twist his words into something indicative of cruelty rather than the mere results of indelible dread.

He tried and nearly failed to swallow back the cry, his shoulders trembling with the effort of keeping himself silent. The familiar warm sting of tears made itself aware and drew itself out, running down without care for how Lurien tried to calmly accept their words, for he _knew_ them to be in the right.

Aster knew him too well—well enough. They realized what this light tremor meant; their critical gaze softened, slightly, and they moved forward. “Oh, sir, please don’t. I’m thankful for… some warning by your own initiative. I’m only frustrated. No matter how close I think I am to you, you still seem to manage to hide so _much_.”

Lurien froze when they dropped one of his hands, now carefully grasping the edges of his mask. Despite the sudden lash of apprehension in his chest, he raised one of his lower hands to help them lift it off. They treated it with such care as they took it, gently placing it upon the desk behind him before returning to him. They hesitantly ran their hand along the side of his face, watching him with a tired smile.

“I love you, you know? I _want_ to be there for you. I want to be someone you _trust_.”

Wavering as it was, Lurien urged himself to speak. “I trust you much more than most.”

“So you’ve said,” They returned dryly. A pain reached his heart again.

“I truly mean this.”

Doubt hung in the air. The only sound to interrupt this suffocating silence was the rain pattering endlessly just outside—remaining a comfort even as nausea twisted Lurien’s insides. He tensed when they pulled back with no more than a soft sigh.

"Aster," He spoke only to falter, for once entirely unsure what he was meant to say despite retaining the ability to.

They leaned down to finally clear the most obvious shards, dropping them in the bin beside his desk before warily turning back to him. They took a breath as if to speak, but no words came. Instead, their gaze shifted to blankly look out the window behind him. From so high up, it was difficult to view anything below the roofs of the buildings surrounding the spire without Monomon’s telescope, but the two of them were familiar enough with the city’s layout. There was nothing new of note without a detailed look. Aster's sole goal was to avoid his gaze.

“How long?” They strained to keep their voice stable. Their hand fell beside his, he gently took it.

“I will be gone as the season ends.”

A fragile laugh tore from their throat. “Just last cycle, before the festerglow, we were looking forward to finally attending Lady Root’s celebration. Together.”

Lurien tightened his hold on their hand. Aster weakly squeezed back.

—

“I trust you shall protect us well.”

Hegemol’s hands easily covered the watcher’s own, upon both his primary hands and the city crest which was presented to him. As he carefully took it, Lurien began to ease away. The true seal for the capital was in his possession now, under his watch rather than Lurien’s own.

There was no more to do.

Lurien turned away, but Hegemol reached to bring him in his large embrace before he could step any further. The armor was cold, sharply so—droplets of rain still lingered upon it despite the covering of the city’s entrance—yet, the very gesture brought incredible warmth to both of them. This was a comfort near-forgotten with how busy they had been in these remaining weeks, by the king’s word.

What a waste. Neither would ever again feel the other’s embrace.

The realization brought forth tears before Lurien could regain himself. With Hegemol’s slight squeeze, any and all worries of another witnessing the watcher waver quickly melted away. Let them talk—he could not _care_ as a sudden sob broke his body. Hegemol kneeled as to let him bury his face in his shoulder, pulling him into a tighter hug at the choked sound. Lurien found he could no longer take anything more than silent gasps—everything reduced to shallow, rushed breaths. He could scarcely control himself enough to move his hands from his face and instead loosely wrap his arms around Hegemol’s shoulders, desperate to keep him close even though he knew the elder would never dare leave him if he were in a state such as this. Lurien felt his hand carefully stroke the back of his head in an attempt to comfort him.

Hegemol gently hushed him, murmuring gentle reassurances—reminding him how much he cared for him, how _proud_ he was of him. These words, although sweet, only drove daggers further into Lurien’s heart.

“I love you,” Lurien mumbled through tears, grasping Hegemol tighter than before. An incessant voice steadily convinced him the other would leave all too soon— _but any departure was too sudden, too soon, too painful, too_

“I love you, my little Lurien,” Hegemol softly returned, somehow managing a light _laugh_ at a time like this. “I always will. Please, never forget that.”

The King’s Watcher did not dissolve to a crying mess at that alone. Never, would he break so easily and mumble on and on with how he thought the knight to be his only family left, only sobbing harder with the other’s admission he was thankful to have a chance to see Lurien grow, even if he felt he contributed very little in comparison to what the king had given.

Lurien would never dare whisper ill word of the honored Pale Light in favor of fulfilling a personal desire. Never, could one who merely _acted_ as father be valued above one’s king.

No. There was no need for the watcher to curse himself afterward, for he only ever spoke highest of his king.

After all, what reason had he to not reserve such praises for his king alone? Not only had His Majesty forgiven Lurien’s initial, traitorous interactions with Hallownest, but allowed him to live under one of his Five Knights rather than face the wasteland alone. Offering further protection, Lurien was gifted a mask. Not only was this physically stronger than his natural one, but freely given with the king’s blessing, meant to protect him from the Old Light’s influence, from his family's previous fate. The king’s kindness went on: once Lurien learned enough of Hallownest, he entrusted him with a city full of potential in its plan to be rebuilt after the previous war tore its streets. He gave him the freedom to craft Hallownest’s Heart to his own design. Once finished and reinforced, Lurien took the mantle of Watcher, guided along until he fully grasped the weight of his new position and realized how to best monitor the capital in the king’s stead. Though Hegemol remained far more physically involved, Lurien _did_ become familiar with its people—besides their needs, he listened closely to their wants, wishes, _whispers_ to none but he who was trusted by their own king. The Wyrm encouraged the keeper of his Heart to become attached.

With its gates finally locked, Lurien saw his gift clearer than ever before.

It truly was a lovely golden cage.

**Author's Note:**

> if there r warnings i missed, please lmk!


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